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This is my life now…I think to myself as I trudge further underground, each stone step forcing my muscles to stiffen and ache. My feet scrape against pebbles and debris, scattering them as I descend into the darkness—the unknown. Metal shackles bite into my wrists, their cold sting sharp as they jingle, the sound echoing off the stone walls. The pungent smell of dirt and stale air fills my nose as I continue further and further into the underground prison. The Hollows.

I never imagined I’d be twenty-years old and condemned to spend the rest of my life in prison. But here I am. My new reality.

My body throbs from the attack. My pale, lavender hair hangs in filthy clumps, matted with dirt and blood. I’m itchy from the royal guard’s blood, as well as my own, that had mixed and coated almost every inch of me. It has dried into a thick layer on my skin and clothes, and has begun to flake off.

Gross.

After what seems like an endless descent underground, we reach another guard. The echoes of our footsteps amplify my mounting sense of dread and uncertainty.

“We got a new one?” the new guard with a bald head and grizzly beard asks the others, both of whom are standing on either side of me.

“Yeah. She murdered a royal soldier,” the guard to my right replies, his voice thick with disgust.

The guard on my left snorts then adds, “Slit his throat—bled him like a hog.”

Pain wracks my body as I stand here with my hands shackled behind me, my mind running rampant. Unsure of what to expect, I shift my weight from leg to leg. The sound of my pulse is crashing rapidly in my ears at the memory of what I have done.

I did it. I killed him. I killed a royal guard.

The guard in front of me makes me squirm with consternation from the maliciousness of his gaze. He carries no weapon, but the sheer size of him seems enough to ensure his rules are followed. I know he is just sizing me up with that devious look on his face. I don’t even want to know what he is thinking.

“They call me Big Al. We won’t have any issues with you, will we, my dear?” His smile stretches wide as he leans in closer to my face—the smile is anything but friendly. The stench of alcohol clings to his breath. It’s enough to make me drunk or vomit—still deciding which. I can’t help but wonder how in the double burning hells I’m going to survive this.

I shake my head. “N-no sir.” I divert my eyes, not wanting to look evil in its face. His deep brown eyes make him look like he has spawned from one of the hells.

“Good!” He glances between the guards flanking me and waves them off. “I got her from here.”

The royal guards—my detainers, my oh-so-noble apprehenders—nod their heads and leave me, ascending the stone steps to get out of the underground prison. It’s where freedom awaits… just not for me.

“Briggs!” Big Al barks. It takes a moment, but soon a gangly, red-headed man appears behind the steel-barred door behind him.

“Yes, Warden?”

“Got a newcomer. Showers, print, and room.”

“Yes, sir.”

The guard, called Briggs, pulls out a set of keys to open the door. Grabbing my shackled arm, he drags me through the doorway before locking it behind us.

The clinking of the metal makes my teeth chatter, setting me more on edge—if that’s even possible. I am actually glad I’ll get to shower and get this blood off me.

Fear claws at my throat—making it hard for me to breathe—while my anxiety coils like a serpent in the pit of my stomach, just waiting to spring. I want to hunch over and hurl—anything, but continue into the unknown that’s swallowing me whole… but I can’t.

I must keep walking.

Keep going.

I put one unsteady foot in front of the next, even though every step builds more panic—more fear. My heart is pounding rapidly against my ribcage, like a prisoner wishing to escape confinement. Every new door we come to is the same: a barred, locked door and a guard there.

Great. I don’t think I’ll ever escape this place.

Ten doors later with more turns and hallways than I can count, we make it to a washroom… well, a sorry excuse for a washroom.

A female guard comes to the door. She looks me up and down, then smiles… well, more like snarls… at me.

“A newcomer?” she asks.

“Yeah.” he replies, “Shower, print, and room.”